Page 95 of Stuck in Paradise with You

Probably die a lonely, old, celibate man, because she’s reminded me this week that no one compares to her. Nothing compares to the way I feel when we’re together.

There’s no going back.

Henry kicks the boat into gear and we drive across the, paradoxically, tranquil water to Virgin Gorda.

It doesn’t matter that the sound of the boat skating along the water is too loud to hold a normal conversation because my thoughts are loud enough to drown everything else out in any event.

The balance is this: on the one hand, I can be miserable and act like I’m doomed, as if Carrie and I have no chance. Or, on the other hand, I can make the most of the next few hours. This is what I decide to do.

I hop off the boat when we dock at a very different looking harbor to the one we arrived into three days ago. It’s hard tocomprehend this is the same place. Boats have been flipped and crashed into one another by the storm. The surrounding buildings are in various states of destruction. No roofs. Cars picked up by the wind and dropped into buildings. A laundry machine sticks out of the shell of what used to be a small, family run restaurant.

As we drive deeper into the island – aiming mostly for the same places as three days ago – the mess is unconceivable. While before, the locals were still remarkably upbeat during our last visit, jovial, perhaps even disbelieving that a storm would transpire, today, there is laughter, there are jokes, but there’s a subdued undertone.

Though I want to spend time with Carrie, our hours on the island seem to disappear; time seems to have sped up exactly when I want it to slow down. We hand out water and provisions and help out in any way we can. Some of the stops we made on Thursday are unreachable, due to fallen trees and landslips, so we support the clearing of roads as best we can.

Between efforts, I watch Carrie working alongside us, when she really doesn’t have to. She shouldn’t even be here. I watch her chat with islanders as if she’s part of their community. Through it all, she exudes warmth and empathy. She listens, she offers words of support, and she displays a confidence and ease in her own skin that she’s developed over the years we’ve been apart.

I can imagine her as a partner in her firm. An incredible one. One who works hard, but deals with others with compassion. One who can win over colleagues and clients with authenticity and kindness.

Against the backdrop of destruction, she is the cliché of a breath of fresh air.

This whole experience is giving me a sense of perspective. An explicit guide as to what I need to do. I’ve tried not to come ontoo strong, but screw that. This is my chance and I might not get another one.

When we get back to Charithonia, I’m going to lay it out for her. Exactly how I feel about her and what I want. Then, I guess the ball will be in her court.

We pull into the boat house on Charithonia and I hold out a hand to help Carrie off the boat. Just the simple feel of her hand in mine gives me even more conviction that I’m going to do the right thing. What feels natural and essential.

Only, Ella is waiting on the dock. ‘The helicopter is inbound, Joe,’ she says. Carrie and I turn to look at her. ‘Twenty minutes. I tried to get in touch with you but either your phone was switched off or you lost signal.’

‘It’s still patchy,’ Joe replies. Then he looks to me apologetically, as if he’s been reading my inner turmoil all day, then to Carrie. ‘Can you be ready in twenty, Carrie?’

‘Ah, yes. Sure.’ She drops my hand and I feel… burned. Bereft. ‘I’ll run up to get my luggage now. I’d like to say goodbye to everyone. Where will you all be?’

I feel lost, as if I’m still at sea, without a boat or even a paddle. I thought I had time when we got back to speak with her. Now… Maybe this was never meant to be. Maybe the universe is trying to show me this is a bad idea. Accept a friendship, if it’s on the table. Take nothing, if not, as punishment for screwing up so badly in the past.

‘We’ll meet you at the helipad,’ Joe says. ‘You’ve seen it, up on the hill?’

She nods, twists her lips into a smile I sense she doesn’t feel, then looks at her feet. ‘Great. Great. Perfect. I’ll run now to clean up and get my things. Ah, thank you, both.’

She glances up at me so fleetingly that I don’t get a sense of what she’s feeling and I wish I had, because perhaps it would give me a clue as to what to do next. As it is, I watch her jog from the dock and when I step out of the boat house, see her still jogging up the hill.

I feel a hand come down on my shoulder and I know it’s Joe, though I’m not able to look at him or speak to him.

She hugs everyone in turn – Alisha, Ella, the kids (who are fairly distracted by looking far into the distance for a speck they think is a helicopter coming our way), Lola, Dionne, Monique.

When it’s Henry’s turn, Carrie jibes, ‘Are you getting paid to hug me goodbye?’ But the way one of her eyebrows is raised tells me she’s toying with him.

I hear him apologize to her and I feel my hackles rise when he adds, ‘For the record, if it wasn’t for the whole Luke thing, and my job, there’d have been no holding me back.’

Carrie rolls her eyes, smiling. ‘That self-assuredness will get you in trouble, Henry.’ I suppose it was a nice thing for him to say. But Iamhere. Thereisa whole Luke thing.

Next comes small talk with Dave, Thom, Kevin and Jenny.

It feels like a never-ending procession because I’m desperate to hold her, to see what she has to say to me, and, I think, building up the courage to say the things I’ve been thinking about all day. Or a very abbreviated version of them, because that speck in the sky actually was the inbound chopper.

I start to shift my body weight, ready to move in next, but Joe steps forward.

He tugs Carrie into an embrace so hard that she thuds against his chest, chuckling as she lands. ‘Thanks for hosting me, Joe. It’s been… honestly, life changing. Wholly unexpected but, for lots of reasons, a trip I’ll never forget.’

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